Aurora, Remembered
by RMS-OLYMPICA
Summary: Colorado in the 1940s. Three individuals - Harlan Beaumont; Christine Winter, and her closest friend, Veronica - are brought together via choices made in their lives, not always made by them first. A story of love, friendship, loss, and ultimately hope - even though that same hope is so often lost. Rated M for language and some thematic matter. (A Cars fanfic)
1. Chapter 1

**ONE  
Colorado, 1940**

Christine Winter was feeling cross.

It wasn't as if she was unappreciative of what she had in life, but when stacked up and reviewed as a whole, her optimism wavered. Take her twice a week job, for instance. She wasn't much for children but to gather what was supposed to be a temporary source of income, she had agreed to become the babysitter of her rather well-off neighbor's two kids, and when the mother decided to be generous and offer a bonus, Christine knew it'd be foolish to turn it down.

Today was Friday – payday – and as she always did on this day slowly drove downtown to deposit her check. Caring for the rather snobby kids was a chore in its own right on any day, but the drift of snowflakes falling down from the heavy grey clouds overhanging Aurora made it worse. Christine hated winter and the fact she was stuck with it year-round because of her surname seemed like the kiss of fate.

By the time she got to the 1st Bank of Aurora (a grey stone structure more than little imposing with its Greek Revival architecture), Christine's hood and fenders had a dusting of snow upon them, a stark contrast to the odd colored paint she wore. She considered it "odd" because it wasn't fully black or navy-blue. It changed depending on the light. On such an overcast day it just looked black. Not that she cared; she never felt herself to be pretty. The taunts and teasing she'd had as young child just reinforced this. She even felt the model she was sounded too fancy for how she felt: Ford Deluxe.

Having prepared for the nasty weather, the entry hall of the bank was covered in a long carpet that told without cliché words that any visitor should "wipe their treads." As she drove over it she attempted to shake free some of the snow on her frame, to no avail in most cases. They'd all have to deal with a few puddles, she thought.

The interior of the bank exemplified the lesser-used alternative name of "financial institution" and from the tasteful lighting, the numerous potted plants, the highly-carved desks, and the employees – the finest looking cars any other bank had seen – Christine felt even plainer. She was glad her transactions went fast and she could leave in decent time and leave to return home to the life she felt suited her best.

As she waited in line to deposit her check, her eyes skimmed over the row of tellers, all very polished men. It seems liked there was usually a new one once or twice a year. One looked questionable to her, but she didn't linger on wondering. In the long run, it didn't much matter and she was tired, simply wanting to get home before the snow became worse.

Upon reaching the head of the line she was summoned to the desk of a bright silver sedan. He smiled politely when she halted. "Good afternoon, Ma'am. How may I help you?"

She returned an appropriate greeting. "And I'd like to deposit this today, sir." she added as she passed over her paycheck. As he read over the information she was glad he made no quip over her surname, even more glaring with her snowy fenders. Her eyes scanned over her immediate surroundings. To the right of the desk was the stock brass nameplate all 1st Bank employees had. _Harlan Beaumont_ was stamped into its surface.

"Alright, is there anything else you need done today, Ms. Winter?" he inquired, having processed her check as her eyes wandered. Now she looked back, meeting his pale blue eyes.

"No, I think I'm fine." She gave him a little smile. "Thank you, Mr. Beaumont."

"My pleasure," he said, returning it. "Have yourself a good day now, and drive safely home. Been told the weather's getting bad out there."

"It's no lie. I hate the winter." she commented but quickly added what she knew so many others followed up with. "I guess I got the wrong last name." He laughed. Not in a way that was mocking but simply good humored.

"You and me both. I've had a few here and there ask if I've ever been to Beaumont, Texas. Never knew there was such a place until I got asked. The jokes get old, fast."

"They do," she agreed. "Well, thank you again, Mr. Beaumont."

"You're plenty welcome," he assured her. After the front doors of the bank had shut upon her departure he turned back to the queue. "Next, please."

. . . .

Christine arrived home just when the snow had gotten worse and sighed with relief as she tossed the house key in the small ceramic dish on the table right outside the door. It was good to be home, away from the weather and those snobby children she babysat. She was thankful there were 4 more days until she'd have to see them again. They reminded her so much of the nasty cohorts she'd had pick on her as a child, what with their rude and very hurtful ways of behaving and speaking. No matter the things they said to Christine (which were often and ranged from her "ugly paint" to other stinging remarks about how she was "too slow" about fetching them this or that), she had no way to complain to their mother. Camilla thought her two tots could do no wrong, and if they wailed about their "awful" day with their babysitter, she figured the navy-blue/black Ford Deluxe had done something to provoke it. Several times she'd been subjected to a Talk with the mother who warned often she could fire her any time she wanted to (at these times Christine felt far more like a hired servant than a mere babysitter), to which Christine would have happily let her do if it weren't for the niceness of the extra funds. The fact Camilla had decided to give her a bonus confused her a great deal, given the whole family's behavior. If she had to sum it up to anything, she guessed upcoming Christmas (in about two months, that is), made her feel generous. She surely appreciated it though, no doubt.

By the time the wood stove had been started and blazed quite steady, the small home had warmed pleasantly and Christine spent the remainder of her evening reading the rest of the love story she'd picked up at the library around a week ago. She liked stories like this and although she was left afterward with this delightful sort of warmth, it gradually faded to be replaced by reality. Really, how much of it was true? How much of it was truly fictitious fiction? All she had in life was her mother, her dad having skipped out before she was even born, so to this day she had no clue who he was. Perhaps he was the one to lend her her odd blue/black paintwork. Was he kind? Caring? Or more of a coward? She always guessed the rest won out because had he truly cared he would've come back to help a single mother who had to work hard to raise her daughter. Christine wondered – although had never asked – if she had even truly been wanted. Had her creation been entirely unintentional? Her mother would never tell the truth though. It wasn't in her makeup.

But really, about the unions in those romances. She knew plenty were fakery just by the way they were plotted, but others just made her wonder. She'd had one boyfriend a couple years ago – an International Harvester farm truck – and with him Christine had felt remarkably comfortable. He had lived a life of hard work and wasn't one to judge on appearances. The Ford didn't exactly know what true love was supposed to feel like (she guessed she could have had something like it for Frank, maybe?), but nothing was like what she read of in her novels. Perhaps none of it was true at all and she was doing herself more harm reading something like it. Then again maybe it lent her some form of hope for this impossible. Not that she felt she was really a subject those sorts of novelized men would fall for anyway. The girls in the stories were all pretty in color and curve and none were a dime-a-dozen type like a Ford – Deluxe model or otherwise. If it wasn't for Frank preferring to live far out of a city for the farm and country lifestyle, which she was a little unsure of handling, he was probably the most suitable for her so far.

About two weeks passed before Christine could spend a day with her friend for girl-time. They usually got together once or twice a month and always had a good bit of fun. Veronica was the stark opposite to her friend with her white paintwork – something many asked her if such was natural, given how much it stood out amongst the many darker shades that dressed the travelers of the streets. The pretty Chevrolet would be flattered as can be and insist that, yes, it was natural but Christine would simply smile in a knowing way. Veronica had been born deep, dark black. The Ford had seen photos to prove it. She had simply grown tired of the "drab darkness" after leaving home and got it done over in as opposite she could find. What was better than white? Veronica's intense brown eyes were a bit of a giveaway to her look at birth, but very few put two and two together. Color or not, she was a wonderful girlfriend with her snappy personality and want to be helpful in any way. Sometimes this consisted of her taking the liberty to doing things that were so bold, they left Christine shocked, but she tried to keep in mind that her friend's heart was in a good place and that no matter the outcome, she usually meant well.

Veronica also had quite the taste for intriguing gossip. As they sat there that afternoon, sipping drinks before the warmth of the wood stove, a heaping of it was shared. Christine knew she was in for something when her friend's dark gaze took on a mischievous look. "Chris, I hope you've had your eyes wide open lately."

"Well, as open as they can be, Veronica." she allowed, sitting her drink aside. The white Chevy followed suit and giggled.

"Have you seen the absolute hunk of a man at our bank? The new teller?" she asked, grinning so big it looked like it hurt. Her reaction is what made Christine laugh as well.

"How should I know if I have?! There's dozens of guys there it seems like! I can't keep track of them." she insisted. Veronica waved this off.

"No excuses. I bet these past several weeks when depositing your paychecks for the care of those two brats, you've seen him. It's hard to miss him, Chris! He's a dream on whitewalls. And yes, he has nice, wide ones too. I made sure I snuck a peek. I love wide whitewalls."

"You and your fascination." Christine snickered. Veronica rolled her eyes.

"I'm not ashamed." she said. "But really, you need to see this guy if you haven't already. He's a work of art. Bright silver paint that just reflects the glow of those little green-shaded lamps at the desks. Sparkly-bright chrome work. Gorgeous blue eyes. There's a man I'd like to have deposit _my_ checks."

"Oh! I know who you're talking about." the Ford acknowledged.

"You do? Isn't he astounding?" Veronica swooned.

"I think his name was Harlan. Harlan Beaumont. He deposited my check a –"

" _What_?! He _did_?" her friend gasped, brown eyes wide. "He touched your check?"

"Well, he had to to deposit it." Christine explained matter-of-factly. Veronica wasn't distracted by this.

"And you said his name is Harlan Beaumont? With those looks and that name, he could be an actor! I bet you have fun depositing your checks now, Chris." she said, smirking. "I know I would. To go in there and see that hunk weekly would make my day." Christine took another sip of her drink and rolled her eyes.

"I don't demand to have him be my teller. I take whoever calls me up." Veronica was still so starry-eyed; nothing her best friend said made any dent.

"I've not seen him as close as I'd like to, but I sure hope to one day. His paint is gorgeous. I've never seen a man wear silver that well, and not just silver, but pearlescent silver. At least I think that's what it is. It surely sparkles, I know that. He must have every girl in town after him." She sighed. "I hope he becomes Employee of the Month there some time. It'd be awfully nice to see his portrait up on that wall they have for that purpose. I'm so sick of looking at Mr. Streeter. He's just an uppity Mercedes."

Christine finished the rest of her drink, and then sank down on her shocks, enjoying the stove's heat. "You sound like you're in love with him, Ronnie." she jested. Veronica's dark eyes went wide.

"In love with Mr. Streeter? Give me a break, Chris!" she snorted. "I've got better taste than that."

"Not _him_. Mr. Beaumont."

"Oh, well that's a totally different matter. I'm not going to stop dreaming about such a knight in silver armor anytime soon, you know." she said, grinning.

"I figured as much. Now, can we talk about something else aside from the bank teller who's only helped me one time in the past month?" she petitioned, her grey eyes meeting the chocolate-colored ones of her friend. A vague little smile flickered on her front bumper. Veronica feigned disgust at having the subject changed, as Christine knew she would.

"Ugh, okay. If you insist. How're the two little monsters?" she inquired. That was her pat name for Camilla Evans' spoiled tots and Christine really couldn't argue, no matter how rude it sounded.

"As monstrous as ever," the dark blue car said with distaste. "Last time I was there, Bart broke something and when Camilla found out, I got blamed for not keeping a firm enough eye on them. How am I supposed to corral two hyper boys in a house with six rooms when they both like to distract me so the other can get away with something? Short of locking all of us together in one room – which won't happen – it's about impossible." She grinned at her friend. "Unless you'd like to come help me."

"Chrysler forbid!" Veronica exclaimed. "I'd sooner have four flat tires than spend a couple hours with those brats."

"Okay… I just figured if you were interested, maybe Camilla would consider putting you on the payroll too and maybe you'd have a better chance of seeing your 'knight in silver armor.'"

"For all the oil in Texas, I'll still say 'no.' Think about it, Chris. If I babysat those kids, I'd be in trouble within the first day and be fired just as soon also. First of all I wouldn't tolerate their shenanigans and I'd let them know about it; time-out in the corner with nothing to entertain themselves. Considering you said their Mother Dearest doesn't like disciplining them, I firmly know I'd be committing some peccadillo."

Christine sighed. "Sadly, that's true."

"You crack me up with how much you hate kids." Veronica chuckled, swirling the remaining portion of her drink about. "Although Bart and Carl surely deserve it." The conversation continued as the two moved their empty glasses to the kitchen.

"I don't 'hate' kids, Ronnie. Even Bart and Carl. I just strongly dislike them for the most part." she said.

"In other words, you don't ever want ones of your own." Veronica filled in.

"In other words," Christine agreed, nodding her dark hood. The white car smiled knowingly.

"I can't argue with that, Chris. If I had kids tagging after me, I couldn't have nearly as much time as I'd like to spend ogling Mr. Beaumont's nice, wide whitewalls."

"And we're back to the beginning of our conversation again." the Ford retorted. In that small room, the two shared a laugh. Outside, snow lightly swirled down over Aurora.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

She didn't need any extra spending money.

That was Veronica's main thought as she waited in line at the bank; the thought that looped and re-looped in her mind as she looked blankly at the license plate of the customer before her. She had more than enough cash at home for girls' night (when it could be had) with Christine, and plenty of extra funds for a trip to the theatre. She didn't need any extra groceries right now either.

Essentially, she had zero need for twenty extra dollars lying around the house.

But… she had a strong interest to see that dashing teller Chris was lucky enough to have deposit her paycheck. She wanted to see him up close and personal and had a mind to finagle answers out of a few questions she had too. This was the third time in the past week and half that she'd come into the bank to feign the need to withdraw some extra cash and the past two times when she got to the front of the line, some other teller was available, making her also feign remembering a very important appointment and leaving. When Mr. Streeter (that uppity Mercedes _and_ Employee of the Month) hailed her the last time, she couldn't leave fast enough. The customer behind her must have been left wondering if she'd suddenly had premonition of a house fire.

Today things were looking up for her, so long as that truck stopped yammering like so to Mr. Dashing Silver Sedan, Veronica thought. She wasn't ashamed to admit she cursed under her breath, hoping that now some other teller wouldn't finish and call her up where again she'd have to pull escapism. If she did that one more time she was thinking the chances of someone tattling on her odd behavior would circulate to someone she didn't want to meet anytime soon. Oh, but joy! She watched joyfully as the truck left. Veronica took her chances now and glided over to his desk before he could even call anyone up.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Beaumont." she greeted, smiling sweet. "And how are _you_ today?" Her entrance had been so quiet that he hadn't even realized she was there and looked up in momentary shock from moving some paperwork. Whatever shock there was though dissolved to his inherent brand of politeness. He smiled at the white Chevy.

"Good afternoon to you as well, Ma'am. I'm just fine; yourself?"

She could've been knocked over with a feather seeing him so near; his paint, his chrome, and those gorgeous blue eyes that Chris _didn't even mention_. With all of that and his nice, wide whitewalls, Veronica could agree without a doubt he was a positively arresting man.

"I'm doing _very_ well now." she replied. "Thank you for asking."

"My pleasure. Is there anything I can help you with today?"

"Oh, if only you knew," she teased, but before the confusion in his (gorgeous) blue eyes could metamorphose into words she hastily added, "I need some extra spending money." She passed her account information across the surface of his desk.

"That I can assist you with," he assured. "How much?"

"Twenty. Small bills, please." She flashed him an appreciative smile. If she didn't act now, she knew there'd never be a chance and she surely wanted to spend as much time chatting this dream-machine up as that truck had. "Your paint is dazzling, by the way."

He looked up from his work, caught off-guard. "Oh, well, thank you."

"I was tempted to say it is 'pretty' but I don't know any guy that likes having that word applied to him." Veronica laughed at this. So did he.

"It doesn't bother me. I'm not really one of those who get ticked off easy." He passed her the unneeded twenty dollars. She thanked him and hastily thought up whatever could keep the conversation rolling.

"So, are you new here, Mr. Beaumont?" she inquired. "Can't say I've seen you before."

"I've been here a few months now but just recently had my shift changed."

"You like it?" she asked. She sure hoped so and that he planned on sticking around.

"It works for me." he said with that smooth smile she was already dazzled by.

"Well," she replied. "you surely work well for it too." Throwing him a wink to drive home the words, she turned to go. "Thanks again, Mr. Beaumont." She could've talked longer, but didn't want to wear out her welcome in a single visit.

 ****. . . .

"Chris, oh my Ford, _that_ man is a dream on tires."

Veronica got together with her friend ASAP and couldn't even close the door before her mouth fell open. Christine sat in the entryway, already fully confused by her friend's bustling appearance and the words she'd spoken.

"Veronica… I don't know what's going on." she admitted, shutting the door. The white Chevy positively glowed, paint hue aside.

"The bank teller, Harlan Beaumont. I had a feeling he would look good up close but nothing prepared me for the actual meeting. He's simply beautiful with his pearled-silver paint and brightwork. And his eyes! They're _blue_. What a good-looking man." She looked at the dark Ford, incredulous. "How can you be so passé?!"

"Veronica! I don't swoon over a man I only saw for about ten minutes, if that!" she countered.

"Oh, stop being so serious and cut loose, Chris! Enjoy what's around you and take advantage of the permission to appreciate. _You_ need to have _that_ man do business for you for often. He's an absolute dream to look at, smiles like an actor, and is so polite. I told him he was gorgeous too. He's as sweet as sweet and deserves to hear it. I am not ashamed either."

This was too much for Christine to take in. "You flirted with him? You have to be joking me. Please." Veronica shook her shiny white hood.

"I sure am not. When he told me being at the bank worked for him, I told him he sure worked well for it, too. And I winked, in case he didn't understand the unsaid statement of the 1st Bank of Aurora hiring only the most handsome men in the city."

Christine's shocked expression hadn't changed. "Ronnie… you are the most brazen woman I know." The Chevy just smiled knowingly. Their talk resumed in the small living room, not immediately before the black stove but nearby.

"Chris, I see no need to hold back the things I believe in and see fit to share. Call it brazen if you want to, but that teller _is_ handsome and all I said was the honest truth." Her friend looked at her.

"I couldn't do that… It seems wrong when conducting business." she said. "He's just employed to do his work and what must it be like to suddenly have a lady swoon over him?" Veronica laughed.

"Honey," she replied, grinning. "There's not one man that doesn't like being complimented to some degree. There's a big difference though when it comes to this. Some men are egotistical hard-hoods that think they're more amazing than they are, which is one of the biggest annoyances. They think they deserve all these compliments and all it does is enhance their ego, which already makes them enough of a bore to deal with. My sister knew a guy like this and I wanted to give him a piece of my mind once or twice, but there's no changing that kind of character. Then there are the men who are as sweet as sugar and keep themselves straight. When complimenting them, or 'flirting,' as you think I was doing, all you say is the honest truth because there's no folly in it. His silver paint is dazzling. Do you agree or not, Chris? Honest answer."

The Ford Deluxe knew she was caught and knew her expression likely told the truth before her words could. "Alright, alright. Yes. It is dazzling."

"There. Now _you_ ought to say it to him next. You need to be freer and 'flirt' more, Christine. Give compliments where they are due. And let me tell you, Mr. Beaumont is one source where they _are_ due. You could say a lot more about him than that farm truck you dated a while back." Christine faintly glared.

"Frank was a nice guy." she countered. Veronica shrugged.

"He was, but you need to start learning to broaden your horizons. A farm truck is fine, but you were too pretty for him. You two looked like the odd couple."

"I'm not pretty,"

"Sure you are. You've got nice curves and shiny chrome and just as shiny paint. You're pretty, Chris. Don't argue with me on that. You should try being with a guy who really suits you."

"Right," the Ford sighed, not sold. "Like a farm truck."

"Shush," Veronica said. "Anyhow, did you get a gander at what sort of car Mr. Beaumont is? I nearly died."

"What?" Christine inquired. Her friend's brown eyes turned starry.

"A Cadillac; one of the most elite types around. Doesn't that just make him all the handsomer?"

. . . .

Bart was worse than he'd ever been.

Christine knew this from the very moment Camilla and her snobbish husband took their leave that Saturday for their "Couple's Afternoon," as the Ford had come to think of it. They always returned home, fully presenting where they'd been. Willis, her husband, smelled like more than one beer and Camilla was giddy and overly-animated from the effects of several cocktails. She usually was in a sprightly mood after these dates but sometimes she was crosser at who she referred to out-of-doors as simply "The Babysitter."

But Bart's mood was awful and Carl wasn't too much better. Spoiled rotten, they threw tantrums over whatever irked them, behavior that wasn't attractive for any age, but less so for two kids who weren't mere infants. They certainly could have a better grip on themselves than they did.

"Get me a can of flavored oil," Bart demanded. Had Christine been willing to overstep her boundaries, she would not have done this chore without first making sure the brat said "please" with his request, but knew this was useless.

"Yes Bart," she said and with a sigh retreated to the kitchen, riffled through the cooler and grabbed the first one she saw. "There you are." She presented it to the sour-looking kid. He looked at it, critically.

"This is grape. I don't like grape. I want a different one." In short notice, Christine did so. Bart studied it again. "Cherry. That's much better."

"Of course," Christine muttered and parked nearby to supervise them. She appreciated the bonus Camilla had given her; she appreciated having the job, but being around two spoiled kids whose mother did nothing but pander to drove her more and more crazy all the time, regardless of it only being twice a week she had to deal with them. Every time she left, she went home foolishly hoping there'd be some magic spell cast upon the whole family to make them more pleasant, but it had never happened.

It never would.

As the two kids played and bickered among each other, Christine decided to read a little of the paperback she'd brought along. She never got too absorbed in it and would always look up to make sure things were still civil. Today the two brothers seemed content (to whatever degree, that is) to remain in that one room and play with their construction set and push their metal dump truck about the tufted rug. When their playacting got rather noisy, Christine set her book aside and simply watched them. She wished she was somewhere else. Bart noticed the paperback first.

His eyes zeroed in on the pretty blue car on the front flanked by one that Christine had come to realized looked faintly like the bank teller Veronica was so in awe of. He wasn't silver though. "That a love story?" the tot asked.

"It is, yes." she replied. "It's just something I like to read."

"You don't look like that lady." he said in a voice oddly critical for a child. "Her paint isn't strange."

Christine had heard this before. From the kids, from Camilla, and even once from Willis. She knew herself how the undecided hue that went from dark blue to black depending on the light was odd. She didn't think she was pretty no matter Veronica's opinion. But that day she was tired of the attitude the spoiled kids weekly threw upon her.

She addressed him in a way that she never had used before, firm but not harsh; stern but not strict. "Please don't criticize me. I know how I look – I've seen myself since I was a little girl. It's not kind to point it out."

He threw a fit. She expected that. Beneath the small triumph she felt though at finally playing the role of an adult was underlying fear. Something would happen.

When Camilla and Willis came home later (her husband always retreated instantly to one of the various rooms of the house; disinterested as he was in child care and babysitters), Bart raced first to his mother, planting himself right before her big sparkling grille. Christine knew what would happen. He would construe whatever had elapsed to play the victim. He was young but he had learned that game. She silently sat in the hallway, waiting.

"Mom! She yelled at me! I was just saying something to her and she got real mad and said something really, really rude to me! She made me cry!" he wailed, putting out some fake-tears for the effect. The Ford sat there, feeling a chill in the room the descended on only her as Camilla's blunt green eyes landed on her.

"Is that right, baby?" she addressed her son, but her attention was only on Christine. "Well, I'll talk to her. We can't have that happening." She smoothly pulled away from her sons and paused before the darker car. Her Duesenberg looks were arresting but her manners were only icy when faced with a matter she felt wronged her precious offspring. "Come with me please, Miss Winter."

The two women joined in what Camilla firmly referred to as "The Parlor." Christine didn't argue over it, not knowing what that was to begin with to determine if this small room passed for it. Camilla's eyes never strayed from the Ford as she arranged herself in a suitable park and she only spoke after a heavy silence lapsed. "So," she began, crisp. "Bart tells me that you yelled at him. Really, when I hired you, I am pretty sure I went over the rules of conduct around my boys, and yelling at them wasn't permissible behavior. There's nothing either of them could've done to warrant such an attitude from you. Making a poor child cry? I'm sorry, Christine, but that is unacceptable."

Christine was aware that Camilla desired an apology, but for once she wasn't willing to give it. She _wasn't_ sorry. How could she be over simply defending herself which was something she so rarely did? The slanting glare over Camilla's eyes deepened when "The Babysitter" had nothing to say.

"How do I know you wouldn't do this again? How do I know it wouldn't progress to you possibly forcing them both into a room and punishing them needlessly for 'time-out?' I do not know, Christine. Because of this, I am compelled to tell you that you are fired." She straightened; wordlessly telling the meeting was over. "Wait outside, please. I will cut your last paycheck now."

. . . .

Christine went straight home, forgoing the trip to the bank she usually took after receiving her pay. She was jobless now. She didn't know where to start seeking anything else. Two months remained before Christmas, and by the way things were now it wasn't looking to be a very happy holiday. Was it really worth defending herself against children who'd never change to simply lose her job? Of course it wasn't, she told herself. She defended herself against something she already knew: Her paint color was strange. Was it a holdover from a distant relative of her mother or from the father she never knew?

She looked at the worn paperback that had become the "beginning of the end" that day, artfully decorated on the cover with a car who would never be a Ford – Deluxe or otherwise. Tears stung at her eyes as opened the door of the blazing wood stove. Without another look, she threw the book into the flames.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

Her eyes closed upon leaning in to kiss him. Not because he was horrible to look at (quite the opposite) but because it was a moment worth savoring.

Celeste delighted in the kiss and her position as his girlfriend in a world woefully full of changes. When time permitted a date, she was glad of it – especially in these changing times. She knew him in the best ways of his humor, his charm, and his plain kindness. She had fancied not so very long ago about being married to him. If that had been possible.

She met his pale-blue eyes. They were such a beautiful pairing to his flawless silver paint. She was lucky to know him in many ways, which made this task difficult, although that alone didn't permit it to be procrastinated forever.

"Harlan," she began, her grille inches from his. "I want to talk to you about something." His even and faultlessly gentle gaze spoke the answer but either way he said it.

"Go on, darling. I'm listening."

Did he know already? Was his tone even slightly hinting at such? The unspoken words' weight suddenly seemed very heavy to Celeste and it took all she had to not fall against him and forget it all. Put it off until another day.

But that wouldn't solve anything.

"We want different things out of life," she began. "Things that sound minor but are really major, like how I want to live in warm, dry Texas and you don't. Like how I want three or four kids and you prefer none." She sighed and looked down before returning his gaze; still gentle but knowing in a way now. He was aware. "I could fool myself over what I want or we could fool each other, but truth will still come out later. I love you, Harlan, but we'll never have the relationship either of us want."

It was the last thing he had ever expected to hear. Suddenly he was like an individual caught in a hurricane and was willing to try anything to hang on in the torrent. "I could get used to Texas, Celeste." he tried. She shook her hood.

"And all that would be would be fooling yourself, Harlan. You don't _want_ to live there. You could try liking it for awhile but it'd be no different than me trying to like living here. Colorado and especially Aurora isn't for me. I can't tolerate the climate." Her eyes searched his. "I'm moving next week."

This cancelled out everything else in the immediate world to the silver Cadillac; the wet flakes of snow spattering against the window; the snap and crackle of the fireplace. His gaze couldn't leave her. Her soft-blue paint shone gently in the dim lamplight. "So this is why you told me now." he remarked. "You're really leaving?"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Harlan." she murmured. "I never did and I don't plan on starting now." He sank down to the lowest limit on his shocks. There was no sense in arguing with her. It was a lost cause that'd create nothing but more hurt for both.

"Where are you going to?" he asked. A pale smile flickered briefly on her chromed lips.

"Where do you think?"

"Texas?" he asked. She nodded. "That's a long drive from here."

"I know, Harlan."

"Drive safely," he petitioned of her. "Please."

"I will," she promised and leaned in to kiss him one last time.

. . . .

Christine was in a fugue following the days Camilla had fired her. She couldn't believe she had been so foolish jeopardizing the one job she had had and wished again and again she could've gone backwards to make the end result different. Veronica was her usual optimistic yet realistic self over the situation.

"Chris, I'd be happier than a kid with a new set of tires if I were you. You never have to drive into that place again and get ugly looks from that family or any more ugly words from those spoiled rotten brats. You stood up for yourself which I know is rare for you, but you should do that more often. You're a great individual and no one has a right to drive all over you." the white Chevy stated one Friday's visit.

"I don't know," Christine sighed.

"Well, I _do_ know, and it isn't right. Camilla Evans did you a favor. That's it in a nice clean and compact form. I'm glad you're out of there."

"But now I'm out of a job before Christmas of all times." the Ford countered. Veronica shrugged before reaching for her can of oil she'd been casually imbibing on.

"There's still plenty of time until Christmas; a month and a half. Don't get worried about it. I'll take care of you." She finished the remainder of the can.

"I can't keep taking your money, Ronnie. It feels wrong enough as it is." Christine countered but the Chevy had already raised a tire in opposition to the words.

"You aren't _taking_ my money, Chris. I'm giving it to you and I'm darn well expecting you to take it if I'm doing that. I'd be upset at you if you didn't. You're my best friend – I don't sit around lazily and let you figure out things for yourself in a bad time." She briefly excused herself to dispose of her can. "Anyway, I need to go to the bank." she said as she came back into the room. "I need my theatre money and I need to see that good-looking teller again at every cost. Don't do anything crazy until I see you next time."

As she turned to head out, Christine quickly spoke up. "Veronica," she said, "thank you." The white car turned to look at her again. A smile curved her bumper.

"You bet, Chris."

The white car followed the stream of traffic downtown until arriving at the bank, glad the whole while that this day was a bright and cloud-free. Crisply-cold, yes, but the white stuff just made it that much worse. The winter sun was weak but if she thought hard enough, she could fool herself into believing it was warm. _If_ she thought hard enough. Right now all she was focusing on was mentally cursing out the Evans Family and hoping they all drove over something to get flat tires. Even the kids. Spoiled brats deserved it, goodness knew. Her other contemplation (far pleasanter) was of the "knight in silver armor" she so loved being waited on by. He could occupy her every waking thought if she permitted it.

Because of these distractions, that winter sun was feeling awfully chilly at that moment.

Veronica impatiently waited in the queue cordoned off by the velvet ropes and had already planned that if the next available teller wasn't him when her turn came, she'd just be pushy and wait at his desk anyway. She was in no mood for Mr. Streeter and honestly, even though the other men were sharp-looking, none of them were on her interest radar since seeing the dazzling new guy. The need never arose for her to be pushy though and when her turn came she smoothly pulled up the desk of that silver dream.

"Hello, Mr. Beaumont." she said, trying her best to keep the wink in her eye from showing in her voice. He greeted her with his urbane brand of polite in turn but Veronica – who was very astute at seeing the unsaid – felt something was off from how he usually was. She plunged ahead.

"How have you been doing?" she inquired. "You look like you've got bad news."

"Just a personal matter," he said. His light-blue eyes stayed upon hers. "It shows?"

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Not, not badly. You just have the same look my best friend has. She lost her job recently. It's all for the best but she doesn't feel that way. With Christmas coming and all, she just is low."

He slowly shook his long, silver hood in a gesture of understanding. "I can understand that feeling, and I'm sorry. I hope things work out better for her."

"Me too," she agreed. "And I hope they do for you as well."

"Thank you," His warmly polite smile shone. "I'm sure they will in whatever way."

The business transaction came and went. Veronica paid no heed to the customers – there were plenty of other tellers and the wait wasn't staggering yet. She had a few more minutes.

"So, what are you doing for your weekend, Mr. Beaumont?" she casually asked. He shrugged in a similar manner.

"Maybe I'll go to the cinema uptown. It's as good of a way as any to spend an hour or so."

Veronica's mind whirled. She had to figure out to say something right and say it now. She tamed the inner storm of her admitted worries and put on her average composed mannerism.

"Really? My friend planned on going there too." She sighed. "Actually, we planned to go together, but something came up for me. With her being so dejected lately I hate knowing I'll be letting her down." Her eyes firmly met his. "She knows who you are and has been here before. Would you… could you take her for me if you plan to go? I know it's a lot to ask, but it's just a friendly request. Please?"

Harlan was slightly apprehensive about female company after Celeste's last words which officially broke apart their relationship. Veronica saw this.

"That is, if you're not already taking someone – I was foolish to not ask." she hastily added. He shook his hood for no.

"I have no planned company tomorrow or a week from tomorrow. If your friend doesn't mind, I'll take her." He smiled in a lighter sort of way. "Although she's under no obligation to sit anywhere near me. Be sure she knows she owes nothing to her bank teller/escort."

Veronica laughed. "Alright, I will make sure. Christine's not a rude type though, so I'm sure you can keep each other company. Thank you, Mr. Beaumont."

"We're both heading the same way. It's my pleasure." he told. The next day was confirmed with a time and directions and the Chevrolet left satisfied and happy. White lies were harmless. She hadn't planned on an outing then next day with her friend, but one was in place either way. Now all there was to do was tell Chris and convince her the benefits of getting out of the house.

. . . .

"You _what_?!"

Veronica was prepped for this response upon springing the cinema "date" to her friend. Christine's mouth hadn't stopped gaping in some way since hearing the news.

"I just told you, Chris. You're going to the cinema tomorrow with that handsome Mr. Beaumont. The best looking man in the city, as far as I'm concerned." She smiled brightly at this retelling. The Ford was still unnerved.

"I am not going to date him, Veronica." she said, vehement. Her friend was unaffected.

"Okay, that's fine. You're under no obligation to even sit near him either, although if I were you, I'd take advantage of it. The way I see it is that you have three options of where you want to set your parking brake. One, you can park in front of him and never have to see him aside from what's in your side mirror, which is a real pity. Two, you can park behind him and get a gander at his license plate and trunk an –" That was too much for Christine to take.

"Look at his trunk? Veronica! That's just plain suggestive." she exclaimed. The Chevy shrugged.

"Alright, then you have only one other option. Park right alongside him. He's a very handsome man, Christine. Is that really such a hard task to sit next to him? I'd give up my spare tire to sit next to him for over an hour."

"Then why don't you go?" she asked. Veronica laughed.

"This isn't about me, girl. This is about _you_. You're depressed about losing your job – which I can sympathize with, no matter how deplorable the Evans's were – and you'd be a lot happier to get out of the house and spend time somewhere else. If a movie and a good-looking man aren't a recipe for that, I don't know what is." She switched her tactics. "Look, if I'm wrong about him and he's not the sweet guy I have inkling he is; if he's a rude and thoughtless jerk, then forget you ever saw him and then next time I do, I'll tell him to drive over some police officer's road spikes. He'll either be nice or he won't be. That's the worst that can happen tomorrow. Give him a chance, Chris. It's an hour and a half, tops, at the cinema."

"Okay, okay. I'll go."

"Give me a full report on how it works out too. I'll be expecting that, you know."

. . . .

Christine spent the next day dreading the hour the man she knew as simply the bank teller her best friend swooned over would show up and escort her to the theatre to see the latest movie. She had already figured it'd be a disappointment and hoped upon hope he would completely forget and not show up at all. She had gotten cleaned up as much as her dark paint would permit and as much as she permitted without looking like she was actually going on a date. That wasn't the idea she wanted to present when the doorbell rang. And speaking of it… it rang at that moment. She glanced at the clock. Right on time.

In the October sun the silver paint of the Cadillac shone even brighter and she had to be careful when she looked at him to save herself temporary blindness. His smile was of the kindest variety and oddly seemed to dispel her prior irritation near ultimately.

"Good afternoon, Miss Winter." he greeted. She tried on a small smile as well.

"Hello, Mr. Beaumont." she returned. "Strange not seeing you at the bank." He laughed quietly.

"I can imagine that." he said before his composed features took on a more serious turn. "I'm sorry about you losing your job; your friend told me. That's hard."

Christine nodded, there being no need to argue. "Thank you. Yes, it is. The thing is… it's for the best I guess. Things weren't really that good although it paid me well towards the end." She looked up, searching his light-blue eyes, trying to decipher if he was getting bored.

"Sometimes, just because things work out for the best doesn't always mean it feels that way to begin with." he told her. He thought of his own recent instance with Celeste, knowing the words she'd spoken were true but denial had made him not see the reality in them for some time. Christine felt shocked that he understood – seemed to read – the underlying current of knowing that she tried so hard to ignore but couldn't. "We've all been there at least once in our lives." he added. "Things will work out for you."

"You seem to know everything I've tried to deny." she remarked. His smile turned vaguely wry.

"Not everything, but a portion. Like I say, we've all been there." She just nodded. "Are you ready to go?" he asked.

She looked down to her dark hood for a few moments and then met his eyes anew. "I guess so. I'm sorry about my friend convincing you to take me." She slowly drove forward as he moved aside to permit her room. She pushed the door shut.

"Miss Winter," he said. "She didn't convince me at all. I don't mind." he said as she pulled partially alongside him. "It's good to have company every once in awhile."

Was that a matter worth denying given how true it was? "I guess you're right, Mr. Beaumont." She was still slightly ticked-off at Veronica for craftily coming up with this outing, but hoped now some parts of it would indeed prove to be alright.

At least he wasn't behaving like a jerk away from work. That had to be a good start.

Talk was at a minimum once they were on the main road with Aurora's Saturday traffic of day-trippers, families with one tot or more in tow, and everything else in between. Christine was in the lead to the cinema at the silver Cadillac's polite offer of "ladies first." She had briefly declined this offer (worried as she was of getting a wandering eye, for despite her odd paintwork, Veronica had been right on her statement that the Ford had nice curves), something he seemed to perceive the moment she'd rejected. He could only look at her with his innately respectful gaze and tell her it was okay. She was not as adept at determining inner feelings and truth as Veronica was, but felt this wasn't a time to doubt. Smiling, she thanked him and then accepted the offer.

Aurora had two types of theatres, drive-in and indoor. Both were useful because weather permitted what was most comfortable. Although today was chilly and it'd likely snow later or even once night fell, it was still beautiful and would be a shame to spend it in the dark inside. Centennial Drive-In was chosen and although Christine dithered over it, she eventually took a park directly alongside the silver sedan. Parking ahead of him seemed rude, given his acceptance at escorting her, and parking behind him? No. Absolutely not. Already she could imagine Veronica's smirk of approval at her choice.

The chatter of the viewers ceased when the big screen flickered to life as the projector was turned on. A young child sitting on the other side of Christine took a hearty and annoyingly loud suck from the straw of his oil can. She glanced over at him. His mother murmured a request for him to "pipe down." The boy begrudgingly sucked quieter. Christine's eyes wandered back to the screen and the beginning credits upon it. She followed the Cadillac's example and sank down on her shocks to get comfortable for the next hour and a half.

Veronica must've already known the movie lineup somehow because Christine had never been gladder of a comedy and laughed at the shenanigans on screen; more than she had laughed in too long. She didn't even mind when the kid beside her laughed so hard he spit his drink out. She couldn't find one person in the whole lot that hadn't giggled at some point.

When the film was over, the majority of the viewers rushed to head back to whatever was planned before the movie's interception, leaving a few stragglers remaining. One still chuckled even though the screen was just a blank, white board now. Harlan upheld to his earlier politeness and waited alongside the Ford before slowly pulling out. The middle entrance/exit aisle was plenty wide for both to leave alongside one another, saving any further wondering about who should rightly go first. The street leading back to the main road was fairly well lined with those who had previously left; affording a fair time spent idling and doing nothing else so the Cadillac pulled off to the side of the lot to wait it out. Christine, knowing how the traffic could be, didn't question this and joined him.

"I take it you enjoyed that, Miss Winter?" he inquired with a grin. She nodded emphatically.

"I haven't laughed like that in ages. It felt so good." she said with a gladsome sigh.

"Going by how I heard things were for you from your friend, I'm even happier to hear that." he replied. She looked at him, trying to see if he was simply saying that. No essence of a lie seemed to dwell in his features though. He had meant it, she realized.

"Thank you, Mr. Beaumont."

"You're plenty welcome." he told her.

Even though Christine knew clearly the way home, the silver sedan expressed his want to be sure she arrived there safely without any problems. He alluded to the fact that if he hadn't, he imagined Veronica wouldn't let him hear the end of it. Christine had laughed at this; at the very idea and also at the fact he knew her friend's attitude so well after just a few visits. It was all true. Before both parted ways, she thanked him a final time and remembering his role of the bank teller offhandedly said, "I've had my last paycheck sitting around for awhile now so… I guess that's the next time I'll see you."

"I'll be there," he said, stating the obvious. She simply smiled. More than she ever thought, she was looking forward to giving the "full report" to her best friend.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

"So, girl, tell me about all of it. And don't leave out a single detail."

Veronica came by again on Sunday to get the details of the cinema outing and foretold it'd already be great news given how bright and happy her friend seemed. That was everything she could've hoped for. At least she was pretty convinced the "knight in silver armor" hadn't been a rude jerk.

"Ronnie, it was so nice." Christine began. "Better than I thought."

"Alright, sounds good. I want more details than that though. Was he a demeaning idiot that you dumped halfway there or was he a no-show? You've not mentioned _him_ yet."

"I'm getting there!" the Ford countered with feigned exasperation. "He was very kind and polite."

"And?" Veronica prompted, knowing there was something unsaid.

"When we were getting ready to leave, he wouldn't go until I accepted his offer of 'ladies first.' I thought that was… sweet." Christine said. Her friend's tawny eyes registered interest.

"'Ladies first'? Chris, that's the sign of an impressive guy right there. If I recall right, that farm truck you dated never even got that out of his mouth."

"Well, it was o –"

"No, that isn't okay. It meant he didn't appreciate you that much in the long haul, which is his issue. I hope he's enjoying plowing fields as we speak."

"He wasn't a tractor, Ronnie." Christine said, rolling her eyes. "He was a truck."

"And not a very sexy one at that."

"Veronica, really?"

"I'm not ashamed. Trucks do something for me usually, but he didn't. He had dirt stuck in his treads all the time, for crying out loud. Now, that Harlan is a gorgeous machine. That good-looking chassis of his exemplifies masculinity with a tasteful amount of grace and let's face it – that silver paintjob over it is plain pretty." She sighed like a love-struck young girl. "So, did you sit next to him, in back of him, or in front of him?"

Christine couldn't help but smile. "Beside him. It seemed like the right thing to do."

"How close were you?" Veronica asked, her eyes intently interested.

"I… don't know. I didn't think about it."

"Just a guess."

"Maybe a foot apart, two feet. You know how the drive-in's arrangements are." the Ford explained. Veronica closed her eyes in a savoring gesture.

"Chris, I want you to promise me something." she said upon looking at her friend. "Keep this man. He's a winner." Christine blinked.

"We went to the movies under your planning. That was it, Veronica." She was startled by her friend's change in demeanor.

"No it is not 'it,' do you understand me?" the Chevrolet stated firmly. "I know I'm nutty at times and don't need anyone pointing that out, but I am very certain when I say that man is special. Camilla canned you for a good reason and that was to get to know this guy who's a true gentleman."

"He's my bank teller. I can't just ask him to take me to the movies again." Christine said, always the pragmatic soul.

"And why can't you? You were a babysitter, he is a bank teller. Those are just jobs. Underneath there's a whole lot more worth figuring out. You need to get to know this man. That's all I'm saying."

"He's a Cadillac."

"I don't care if he has a goddess with wings as his hood ornament or not. He didn't ask to be born that. That doesn't instantly make him a stuck-up rude fool like Willis Evans. Look, I'll put it to you this way. You can either get to know him more or I'll woo him with my ways and ask him out. I don't care what brand he is." Veronica knew this approach would work with her friend for suddenly Christine seemed very eager to speak.

"No, I'll try to know him better." she said.

"Like him, don't you?" the white car teased. "Don't want your friend to get her tires on him."

"I… _Veronica_ …." she said, glaring. She had been duped by the smiling car before her again. She played those games so well. "You always get me."

"Just a gift," the other car replied casually. "And I don't mind. You get an opportunity with him then I'm even happier. Don't lose any chances, Christine. I'll be really, really mad at you if you do. I'm not joking, girl."

Christine believed her.

"Anyway, _I'll_ never have any chance with him. We'd be such a dull-looking couple, what with our light paint. You and he look much nicer."

Christine looked at her friend with a variety of emotions in her eyes. "Ronnie, I don't know what do about you, playing matchmaker between me and some strange man." Veronica smiled.

"No more ugly words about Mr. Beaumont. And, you're welcome, sweetie."

As had been assumed, Christine next saw the silver Cadillac when she deposited her final paycheck at the week's beginning. He greeted her with his kindly smile.

"How have you been, Miss Winter?"

She compulsively returned the grin. "I've been good; still thinking about Saturday. Thanks again for taking me."

"No need to thank me. It was my pleasure, and I enjoyed the day too. I'd take you again minus your friend's convincing if I could." He looked up from his work. "That is, if that isn't too bold to say."

Within her mind, Christine heard Veronica's firm encouragement. "What do you mean, 'If you could'?"

He finished filling out her transaction receipt. "I mean," he said, giving the slip to her, "that I _would_ if you wouldn't get tired of going out with your bank teller."

A playful smile curved Christine's mouth. "I don't mind, as long as you're sure you're not being friendly towards me because you want my money." This presented the reaction she'd hoped to gain. Although the workplace meant a degree of composure had to be maintained, the light of humor was in the silver car's eyes.

"I promise you that's not the case," he said. "With that in mind, may I have your company again sometime soon?"

The modest side of the Ford – the side steeped in lack of much worth – was taken aback by this plainly serious offer. It was what she realized she'd unconsciously hoped for but was startled by all the same. She found herself slowly starting to nod. "When?" she softly asked.

"Wednesday afternoon? That will be a half-day for me and I'll be done around 3. Would that work for you?" he inquired. She nodded again.

"I look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Beaumont." she said.

"The same to you, Miss Winter."

. . . .

Veronica was plainly excited to hear this news and made her friend repeat it several times even though she knew the outcome.

"So, he made the move. He asked you out." she gushed. "I knew I had the right idea about him. Between the whole 'ladies first' situation and now this… what a gentleman. Well, you know what this means."

Christine said, "I'd better let you put it in your words since you know so well." Veronica snorted.

"Alright then, girl. He isn't taking you now because of my white lie of not being able to take you to the cinema." She looked at her friend seriously. "What this means, in black-and-white, is that he just asked you out on a date."

"Isn't that a little presumptuous?"

"No, not at all. You're not new with men's ways, Chris. A lot of them don't just come out and say they want a date. They think it'll scare a girl off. Mr. Harlan is a thoughtful and considerate man, and that's why he didn't say something as serious as that. Underneath though, he means it. He's taken a shine to you. You're luckier than lucky." She grinned. "Sooo, this means you should dress for a date. Unfortunately you wasted your prettying-up on Frank but this guy is different and he'll see with those gorgeous blue eyes what Frank Farmall didn't."

"His last name isn't Farmall, Ronnie."

"You get my point." The Chevrolet sifted through her personal effects. "Here's some money. Get your paint all polished up. It's on me. You'll be a stunner buffed out."

Christine demurred. "I can't let you do that, Veronica."

"Why not? If this is about my money again, don't. If I want to throw my money in a campfire one day, that's my business. Take it and get your paint cleaned up. He'll love how pretty you are when the light shines over your curves."

"You're the pretty one." the Ford sighed.

"Enough of that." Veronica said, passing her friend the money. "You'll be even more gorgeous."

"How do I ever thank you – for everything?" Christine asked. Her best friend smiled warmly at her.

"Keep Mr. Beaumont. That's all I need to know."

On Tuesday Christine abided by her friend's wishes and got her paint polished up at the ladies salon downtown. She drove out with a hood shining so brightly she found it was hard to even look at without blinking. She had seen her reflection after it was all done in the shop's mirrors and smiled politely for the sake of the employees who had done the good work. How sad though that such was wasted on her strange-colored paint. The black that shifted to midnight-blue and back again wasn't much to be improved upon. She had been cheered up though by a small child waiting in the main room while his mother got her polishing. He said with the innocence of the very young she was "pretty colored." For some odd reason as Christine began to drive home, tears pricked her eyes. She blamed it on the cold wind.

Aside from Veronica and her mother, no one else had said she was "pretty colored." Not even Frank.

On Wednesday Veronica rang up her friend around three in the afternoon. Although Christine had "experience" with men, she wanted to be sure her best friend was utterly and completely prepared to see the silver sedan again and ran her through some important points over the phone she may have forgotten with Frank.

"So you got your paint buffed and I bet you look gorgeous. Are you wearing your perfume?"

"One spray. I didn't want to overdo it and… well… scare him off?" the Ford said, ending on an unsure note. She heard her friend chuckle.

"He wants a date. If he's scared off that easy then he's not worth messing with. If a man is scared off by a little extra perfume, he's an ass."

" _Veronica!_ " Christine chastised even though she knew how her friend would drop a curse every so often when she got extremely passionate over a subject. Of course, the Chevy replied in the way she expected.

"I'm not ashamed. It's true. Go put on some more. I'll wait. Go, now." Veronica prompted. Christine tossed the idea around and then mumbled something to her friend before doing what she had been asked to. When she came back she related the change.

"Alright. I did two extra sprays. I think that's enough." She could tell Veronica's tone was plenty approving over this.

"Good! He'll be delighted." Christine could hear her friend sigh over the air. "You're so lucky to have got that man's attention. I hope you feel just as lucky too. If not immediately, you will one day soon, I'm sure. He likes you, girl. Men don't ask for a second date for the heck of it. No, he likes you and I bet you anything this won't be the end of it either."

Christine looked up briefly to the clock. "I just can't understand the fact a car as elite as he is doesn't mind being seen with someone as common as me."

Veronica jumped at this. "Chris, you aren't 'common.' Alright, so both of our makes are 'average,' but we're all individuals and all different. I already told you; Mr. Beaumont didn't ask to be a Cadillac Master Deluxe. He just is and happens to be a very urbane-looking one too. He likes you and wants company. Be that for him. A lot of good could come out of it."

The Ford didn't ask her friend the full meaning behind her cryptic last words, but she didn't really get a chance either.

"Let me know if he brings you flowers," the Chevy added.

"I don't think –" Christine started to say.

"Never say never. Look, I have to go. Enjoy your date. Remember, that is what this is. If you don't believe me, he'll likely say something to make it so." Veronica said. "Just listen."

 _He'll say something to make it so._ Really?

. . . .

Something about his smile put her quickly at ease, no matter lingering apprehension. When he came at the agreed time and greeted her with his genuine brand of kindness, the grin she mirrored came without any questioning thought.

"I'm glad to see you, Mr. Beaumont." she said, and it was no lie. The minute the words were spoken she knew in her heart they really were true.

"And I'm as glad to see you. But…" He left this hanging in the air, the look in his blue eyes compelling her to close and door and join him in the front yard.

"But what?" she asked. She was still staggered he had claimed to be glad to see her. _Her?_

"All day long, six days a week, what I hear more than anything is 'Mr. Beaumont.'" He smiled in a humored way. "A guy almost forgets he has a first name at that rate. I don't need formality, Miss Winter. On these sorts of days, I'm not your bank teller."

She softly laughed. How he could so easily put her worries and fears and lack of self-confidence aside; if only for awhile, it was a good a happy while. "Then you don't have to be formal with me either. I hate my last name's weather connotations. Especially at this time of year."

"I can understand that," he said, then dipped down his long, silver hood in polite gesture. The chrome trim along its edges and his Flying Lady hood ornament sparked as they caught the October sun. "It's a pleasure to get to know you, Christine."

She felt the heat of blush start to come upon her and furiously attempted to hide it with a broad smile.

"And it's a pleasure to get to know you as well, Harlan."

This time, just for a change, they chose the indoor theatre. The weather was okay enough for the drive-in, but a switch-up was nice. He had asked her at the box office what genre of film she most enjoyed but eager for a surprise, she simply said she wasn't choosy and would leave it up to him. No matter what she couldn't persuade him to let her pay for her own ticket so she stayed to the side until the transactions had been made. He joined her in the small waiting hall.

"We have a little short of twenty minutes till our show begins, so I guess you're stuck with me for awhile minus the distraction of a movie."

She laughed aloud. "Well, that's rough." she joked. "What did you pick?"

He smiled. "I thought you wanted to be surprised, Christine."

"Well…"

"Alright," he gave in. "It's about a bank robbery."

"I…" she began, and then made a face of disgust once it set in. "Bank robbery? I think that's more of your interest than mine." Now he was the one to chuckle.

"I don't want my bank robbed," he remarked. "It's funny, you'll like it." She still wasn't convinced.

"I don't know…"

Their eyes met. "Alright," he replied. "It's funny but… it's not about a bank robbery. I had to tease you there." Christine fired him a glare that lacked anger.

"Don't try that around my friend Veronica." she warned. "She won't be as nice about it as I would be."

"Noted," he confirmed. At that moment a fancy-looking DeSoto pulled in with her two children trailing behind her. Following them was a sullen-looking man of the same make. Seeing them made Christine's not-so-long-ago memories of Camilla and Willis Evans leap to crystal-clarity in her mind. The two kids reminded her of Bart and Carl. A shiver passed through her of distaste. She moved back to leave them more room to move in and at the same instance happened to accidentally brush against the silver sedan's side. She gasped.

"Oh, I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to, Harlan." she hastily apologized, for no matter first-name basis or theatre outings, she associated him as being a business official first. His pale-blue eyes registered no ire.

"I'm fine," he said, brushing it off. "Are you okay?"

She moved back to pull at more even lengths beside him, leaving space between their opposing-colored frames. "Yes… I'm alright." she replied. He didn't seem convinced.

"Do you know them?" he asked. She was surprised, not assuming he'd notice her struck-expression at seeing four individuals she knew not at all but reminded her so plainly of her hellacious employer. The peaceable feelings she gained by meeting his calm and even gaze came over her again and so she grounded herself in his eyes' sapphire hues. She told him, briefly, about her past job.

"It was good pay though… I should have never said what I did to their one son." she related. Looking down to her now highly polished dark hood she sighed. "It was foolish. I lost the only job I had before Christmas of all times."

Her inner censuring was interrupted when he leaned over to softly nudge her deep-blue fender with his of pearlescent silver. She looked up again to meet his eyes but said nothing.

"Christine," he began. "There are all types in this world to make it what it is. I know that all too well with a public job at the bank. Child or not, their son was being a brat. There's no other word for it. You have every right to stand up for yourself."

"But, what good did it do? I lost my job and he's the same little brat –"

"– Who's terrorizing another babysitter," the silver sedan finished. Despite her arisen worries for her future, the Ford couldn't help but laugh at this. Seeing he had been able to accomplish what he'd hoped – putting a smile on her face again – he mirrored it.

"You're out of there and away from the entire family's abuse, Christine." he told her as he slowly dropped back to his previous stance. "That's what really matters."

. . . .

It was another movie filled with humor – a romantic-comedy, really. It wasn't so immersed in romance that it was serious or too humorous to be frivolous. It was something happy that left viewers feeling good. When the lights had turned back on and the rest of the watchers hastily began filing out towards the sun again, the two sat in their place, waiting as before for a quieter exit. Harlan turned to his companion, glad she had expressed no disinterest at being parked beside him.

"So, that wasn't too awful for a bank robbery, was it?" he jested her. She laughed. The heavier feelings of the earlier remembrances of her employer had been replaced by a lingering blithe mood that the silver sedan thought became her perfectly.

"No, not too bad at all." she said, grinning. "You're in charge of picking movies from now on."

"What if I do pick a bank robbery themed one one day?" he pressed.

"I doubt you will,"

When there were only a few other cars in the big hall, Ford and Cadillac made to leave, again traveling the long, carpeted center aisle side by side. Christine noticed on the way out a woman around her age looking at the silver car with unharnessed interest; even desire. When Harlan didn't meet her boring eyes, Christine felt something like relief.

Maybe she did mean a little something to him after all.

The drive back was a bit slower and the road was busier with the evening traffic of day-workers going home but with careful measures, the pair wasn't once parted. The winter sun had taken its leave, drenching the sky over the city a color so inky-blue, it looked taken from Christine's deep paint. Where the cloud cover dissipated, a spattering of stars could be seen. There was a great coldness to the air though. There would very likely be snow that night.

The pair arrived on Christine's lamp-lit home street where a greater quiet dwelled, as it was far enough from the main thoroughfare in Aurora. Not that anything in a big town was ever entirely quiet, but at least times came when there could be a rare but lovely stillness.

Everything had gone well, leaving the Ford feeling happier than the first time she'd attended an afternoon at the theatre. Then she didn't know quite what to expect. Now she did, and was glad of it. The silver sedan drew to a smooth halt in the front yard. Christine halted beside him. The light from the street lamp at the edge of her front fence cast light across their polished paintwork; whereas hers blended in to the evening his still softly gleamed. The light captured the pearlescent shimmer in his silver coat, setting it to subtly glitter when he shifted.

"Thank you for letting me take you out again, Christine." he said to her, his voice as measured as his mild gaze. "You're a pleasure to spend time with."

It wasn't time to agonize over what he'd said. She just smiled instead. "I like spending time with you as well." Her tone was almost shy. "You pick good movies." she added in a humored affectation.

"What happens if I can't find a movie you'd want to see one day?" he inquired. "There's a chance that will happen."

The darkness permitted a bolder side to show. "Well, Harlan, I don't have to be at the cinema to enjoy being with you. I'd be anywhere, I think."

For the silver Cadillac, whose mind often retreated back to the union he had forged with Celeste – a girl he would have liked to marry at some point but had now lost for good – those words were a sweetness appreciated. He had worked at the 1st Bank of Aurora for a decent period and although there was a fair deal of break-room "what if" jokes of falling for a customer, he hadn't figured it was possible. Of course, Celeste was in his life as well so there was no thinking of this even being true.

Now she was gone, away to Texas. And no, she had said, she wouldn't be living in the related-sounding Beaumont. He hadn't asked though. She had simply volunteered this so he knew. She had said even if she was interested in the area, she couldn't live in the town.

" _I couldn't live in a place that reminds me of a man I loved every day of my life_ ," she had told him. They had parted. He had lost her. He hadn't put emphasis into thinking of anyone else to have as company. But then, here she was. Right before him.

"Maybe the next time I ask you out, I'll do something aside from the cinema." he said.

"Nothing fancy," she offered. "It can be simple."

"I'll see what I can think of."

"Surprise me," she told him. He smiled.

"I'll be happy to try that." he replied. "And Christine?"

The stars twinkled up above in the small break of the clouds. Below on earth his pearlescent paint was the same. _More wonderful than the stars because I can see it so near_ , she thought before encouraging him with a nod.

"You did the right thing by standing up to that brat you babysat. He has no right saying anything about your looks or your color." he said to her. "If it means anything at all to you for me to say this, I think you are a beautiful lady." The words startled her so much that she hadn't any chance of thinking up a suitable reply. Was he simply being nice? Was it insincerity?

The silver Cadillac whose paint was like the stars fallen to earth leaned over, giving the Ford a kiss on the side of her midnight-dark fender; confirmed sincerity in his action to prove his words.

 _"If you doubt it's a date, he'll say something to make it so,"_ Veronica had said. How wise she had been. It was true.


End file.
